


Need for Speed

by lolobean



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Other, PWP, Spike and Valve, Sticky Sex, Tactile, slight romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolobean/pseuds/lolobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was funny how a race could turn into mad fragging against a tree. No? Well, Knock Out wasn't prepared for what the interfacing would yield afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Need for Speed

**Author's Note:**

> 'Sup, everyone! This is my second completed sticky fic and, lo and behold, still not my OTP. However, I couldn't get the idea out of my head and I had to put it down and share it with you all. :)
> 
> It gets a little romantic at the end but I don't feel the need to change it. I wrote porn about them because they're a couple of sweet-ass cars and they needed to frag, damnit. Not my fault they made goo-goo eyes at eachother.
> 
> Okay maybe it is.
> 
> Enjoy!

Smokescreen couldn't believe what he was doing until he'd done it for the fifth time.

 

It had started as a fling, just as an odd happenstance fueled by lust and adrenaline. He'd been on patrol in a secluded part of the United States, hunting down an energon signal, when he'd been spotted by a glossy, sleek, red European model. At first he'd initiated an alt-mode Mexican stand-off, a staring contest between himself and the bass-mouth, inferno red hot-rod.

 

The last time he'd seen Knock Out hadn't necessarily been a pleasant experience.

 

However, Knock Out was, to say the least, jovial. The Decepticon was on an extracurricular mission, if you could call it that. A mission he indulged in often; racing. The red bot was scoping out victims to humiliate and otherwise leave in his dust.

 

Unfortunately, Smokescreen was in his sights. At least the elite guard Autobot could say that they hadn't engaged in battle of the _conventional_ sort which would have insinuated a lot more pain, suffering, and missing body parts.

 

“Heeey, big 38,” Knock Out drawled, his engine rumbling as he closed the distance between himself and the race car. “Wanna race?”

 

With that simple and innocent inquiry began one of the most forbidden flings that Smokescreen would never tell anyone about.

 

Smokescreen had lost that first race, but he sort of let the supercar win just so that he wouldn't put his sights on him and decide to extinguish his spark as a consolation prize. After that, though, the elite guardsman let the 'con win.

 

Because Knock Out fragged him senseless every time the Autobot “lost”.

 

He'd wanted a reward of some sort and when Smokescreen floundered, Knock Out came up with the idea that they should interface.

 

“That's crazy!” the Autobot complained, revving his alt mode's engine noisily as they hid in a small alcove after the race, discussing their terms.

 

What was even more crazy was that eventually he agreed to it, and it was _awesome._ The first time had been in that alcove, the second time on a secluded part of the beach—that had been his favorite, save for the sand in his crevices and the scuffing of his clear coat—and it went on and on.

 

Every single time he returned to base after one of his exercises, Smokescreen had to make up a good excuse for why there were long scratch marks on his front and abdomen, and in some instances he had to scuff himself up a little more to make his claims more convincing.

 

“I took a hard turn.”

 

“I wasn't paying attention and had to roll down a drop to avoid hitting a human.”

 

“There was a mountain lion.”

 

The young bot was sure that Ratchet knew _something_ with all the sidelong glances he'd received, but the old bot hadn't interrogated him. Not yet, anyway.

 

That very afternoon was no different from their other encounters. Smokescreen was scoping out an energon signal in a deep, lush Californian forest when Knock Out appeared, on the tail of the same beacon.

 

“Look who it is!” he exclaimed, transforming smoothly and almost affectionately drifting his fingers over Smokescreen's hood, tickling the protometal with his sharp digits. “What do you say we have a little race and whoever wins gets that energon? And, of course, the usual prize.”

 

Smokescreen transformed and greeted the Decepticon with a smirk, his spark jumping at the sight of the gorgeous Cybertronian. He was absolutely sinful. “That sounds like a good game. I hope you're ready for me to win.”

 

“Wouldn't bet on it,” Knock Out chuckled, then transformed and sped off through the forest.

 

“Hey!!” the Autobot exclaimed, jogging a few steps before transforming as well and zooming off after the cheating 'con.

 

Thankfully the trail they had chosen was clear of most debris save for a small stick or two, but that didn't mean it wasn't still a challenging course for both of the supercars. Engines roared and tires begged for traction on the needle-coated ground as they traveled at high speeds through dappled, golden sunlight.

 

What Knock Out didn't know was that Smokescreen was in it to win it. Ever since their “relationship”, if they could call it that, had started, the Autobot had constantly bottomed. He couldn't say that he didn't enjoy getting fragged into oblivion by the talented Decepticon after a heated, high-octane race, but it was time to turn the tables and show exactly what the red mech was in for.

 

Their agreement had always been the three-mile mark; the magic number, if you will. The terms were the same, and as such Smokescreen struggled to catch up for the first mile, but was quickly on the 'con's tail.

 

“You're playing your A game today, Smokey! Let's see if you can keep up with this,” Knock Out purred, shifting gears and accelerating with a deep roar, kicking up dirt and leaves as he went.

 

“Easy!” Smokescreen countered, shifting down and finding a gap between the trees and the other automobile. But when he tried to weasel in, Knock Out caught on and cut him off.

 

“You don't think you're actually going to win this, do you?” the Decepticon chuckled, swerving to and fro in a serpentine motion to keep the race car right where he was.

 

Smokescreen let out a groan of frustration...and recalled a move that Raf had done to Bumblebee in their racing video game they played back at base. He'd called it a fake-out, and hopefully the other bot didn't catch on.

 

He acted like he was going to swerve one way, and when Knock Out had invested in his own movement, Smokescreen quickly changed position and sped beside and past the European car, all but cackling as he took the lead.

 

“No!” Knock Out wailed as the Autobot kept him in place behind him.

 

“Poor you, KO! I guess that energon is mine!” the greenhorn laughed, accelerating a little more to ensure his victory. “Eat my dust!!”

 

Spinning donuts in the clearing that conveniently enough marked their finish line, surrounded by a thick enclosure of pines, Smokescreen transformed into his root mode and hollered in triumph, lifting his servos over his head and jumping with glee. In contrast, Knock Out sulked his way into the clearing and transformed, his arms crossed over his chest, a pout straining his flawless white face.

 

Once the Autobot had finished his round of back-patting, he smirked at the older mech, sauntering towards him, energon pumping hotly through his veins and keeping his frame warm. “You know what this means,” he said, reaching out for the 'con.

 

“I don't think so, kiddo,” Knock Out frowned, reaching out to slap the other bot's servo out of the air, returning his own to its crossed position over his chest.

 

“But KO, ugh! I won fair and square! You're always the one to frag me!”

 

“There's a reason for that,” the 'con replied, a little smirk playing on his lips.

 

It was Smokescreen's turn to pout. He tried reaching out for him again, placing both servos on slender hips, drawing his own blue and white frame closer to the red one before him. “Come _on,_ baby. Let me treat you to a good fragging. Please? I know you probably get tired of being in control.”

 

“Hardly!” Knock Out laughed, shaking his helm before slowly uncrossing an arm and tracing the Autobot symbol on Smokescreen's chassis with a taloned digit. Then he poked it, glancing into crystal blue optics with his own crimson gaze. “I love being in control. Don't be concerned over that, darling.”

 

“Pretty please? I'll even let you split the energon fifty-fifty,” the race car continued, daring to lean in and kiss the cheek of the Decepticon's faceplate.

 

“ _Let_ me split it, hmm?” Knock Out rolled his eyes, jerking his head away from the kiss to stare down the younger mech. “I could take it from you right now and leave you all worked up,” he mused, adoring the way Smokescreen's face went from lusty and confident to appalled and cheated.

 

“No! KO, come _on_...” he all but begged, bouncing a little on his pedes and smoothing his servos tighter around the 'con's waist, one dropping dangerously low to the curve of his aft.

 

“Say pretty please.”

 

“I already did! Check your audials!”

 

“Say it again. And say, 'pretty, pretty, pretty please, you beautiful god of a bot, with candied energon on top'.” Knock Out's lipplates formed a wicked grin, dancing deft surgeon's servos down the smooth plating of the Autobot's front.

 

Smokescreen rolled his eyes to express his immediate attitude towards the situation, then grinned when he got the idea to simply one-up the other automobile. Leaning in, he curved his hand in a surer grip over Knock Out's aft and pressed his intake close to a pointed audial fin, breathing a hot vent against it.

 

“Please, you gorgeous 'con. You're fast and fragging gorgeous, and so slagging suave that I can hardly take it,” the Autobot breathed, tugging their frames closer until their chestplates brushed. “You are the most handsome, flawless Cybertronian I've ever seen, and I can't wait to make you cry my name as you overload.”

 

Knock Out was impressed, his optics shuttering as he shivered in his illicit lover's embrace, digging his talons shallowly into pristine blue and white paint. When the greenhorn was finished, the Decepticon grinned and made a move to shove him away...but only nudged him an inch just so that he could stare into his optics.

 

Lifting a servo, he pressed a sharp claw against his lips to quiet him and whispered low, “Make it good,” before removing his hand and leaning in to engage the Autobot in a searing kiss.

 

So this is what winning felt like, Smokescreen thought to himself as he felt a glossa invade his mouth. Competitively, he darted his own out to touch Knock Out's, wrestling for dominance as he guided the older bot back towards a patch of soft clover he'd spotted. He knew that if he'd harmed the adonis' paint in any way there would truly be hell to pay.

 

When he couldn't gain the upper hand in the kissing department, the Autobot pressed the Decepticon into the shade and against a mossy tree, letting his wheelstruts bump against the surface and allowing Knock Out's glossa to invade his mouth. Instead of idly standing by, though, the greenhorn sucked on the curious appendage, doing his best to hold back a loud laugh at the startled moan that resulted.

 

“Cheeky little Autobot,” Knock Out vented as he split up the kiss, spreading his legs to shoulder-width as he leaned his wheels back against the tree further, relaxing for the moment in quiet, hidden admiration of the race car. He really was a cute little guy and he'd always been jealous of his gorgeous paint and finish. It must have been those orns in stasis...

 

And that smile. It almost melted the Decepticon's spark and _almost_ made him renounce his faction and join their side if only he could see that grin again. But not really.

 

 _Not in the cards_ , he thought to himself. _Not even in the deck._ The Autobots were not the winning team, but neither was he at the moment. It was hard to be a sore loser with a cute bot pressed up against him, he could say that much.

 

At the new position, Smokescreen invited himself between those spread legs, running his servos up towards his waist as he connected their pelvic plating, grinding against the medic. He got a little sigh and a rich chuckle in response, and oh how it made the elite guardsman's frame shudder. He couldn't help it, Knock Out's voice was one of his favorite attributes.

 

Static built between them and Smokescreen leaned in for another kiss, this time a biting, deep liplock, the only variance being that he used his tongue sparingly. All the while he continued to grind, gyrating his hips in little circles against that elegant frame.

 

Knock Out was the first to break the kiss again. As good as it was, it wasn't bringing him any closer to overload. “If all we're going to do is stand here and make out then I'll take my half of the energon and go,” he grunted with a sneer, betrayed by the upturned corners of his mouth.

 

“Don't worry, KO...” Smokescreen trailed off, smiling in an almost predatory way. Servos slid down from his waist to his thighs and he suddenly lifted up his legs by the kneestruts, kneeling and letting Knock Out's frame slide down the tree gracefully with the help of the wheels on his back. The tires rolled down the tree, using the huge plant as a track. “We're just getting to the main event.”

 

“That,” Knock Out grinned broadly at the fact that his paint hadn't even been at risk during the maneuver, “was smooth. I'm even more impressed.”

 

Smokescreen laughed proudly, resting his lover's aft against the forest floor. “I didn't know you could get impressed,” the younger bot replied, sitting back on his knees to admire the 'con before him. The red paint was in sharp contrast to the eternal green of the forest and Knock Out really did look something akin to a god. “Primus, you're amazing,” Smokescreen whispered in earnest, leaning forward and capturing his mouth in another sweet kiss.

 

Maybe Knock Out could get used to this affection. Usually it was a frag-and-go for fear of humans or, allspark forbid, other Cybertronians spotting them. But in this secluded part of the forest that hadn't seen any sort of human life in years, he was a bit more comfortable to enjoy the less frantic pace.

 

“Are you a romantic?” Knock Out suddenly asked the bot between his legs, tilting his head back and sighing as glossa and lipplates teased the black stripes running up his neck.

 

“Huh?” Smokescreen grunted, leaning away and staring at the supercar with a bewildered expression. “Is that a trick question?”

 

It was an endearing quality, albeit a bit annoying, that the other bot was so stupid. He was excitable and adorable, and Knock Out admired him for that. He kept that to himself, of course.

 

Staring at the blue-eyed Autobot, Knock Out reached out and ran the backs of his claws over his faceplate, a grin slowly appearing over his thoughtful expression. It broke it up nicely and the medic folded both servos over broad shoulders, gently massaging cables to release a little tension and expose a lance of pent-up charge. He didn't answer his question and instead brought him close for a kiss, grasping the back of his helm.

 

“Frag me,” he finally whispered against his intake, bumping their crests together and keeping them there, staring into ice blue. It cooled him from head to pede and he released an exvent of hidden awe.

 

Then that laugh. That childlike, immature, _sexy_ laugh rang true as a deft, confident hand cupped the junction of his thighs, massaging the crotch of his pelvic plating and seeking out the heat that hid there. Even in those motions they stared into eachother's eyes and Smokescreen relished in the soft noises that resulted from the other bot's vocalizer.

 

It was kind of nice to take it slow, Knock Out thought as he tilted his chin forward to deliver a chaste smooch to the Autobot's faceplate. In a short amount of time he'd already grown tired of the necking and wanted more, but he let the greenhorn keep his sense of control for the time being, allowing him to call the shots.

 

Smokescreen didn't disappoint, though. He sought out cables and gears and teased all of them deliciously, his other servo returning to his interface panel to rub at the edges where lubricant was bubbling out of the seams.

 

“Open up for me, baby?” he whispered, winking at the crimson bot and grinning triumphantly at the sharp vent that resulted.

 

“I'm going to start calling you prince charming,” Knock Out snickered, his panel transforming back and exposing his heated valve to the cool, humid forest air. He shuddered visibly, much to his chagrin, and tried to collect himself by busying his servos with the expanse of the young bot's chest. He found a hotspot that he knew to be particularly sensitive and the Autobot squirmed, a strained grunt escaping his vocalizer.

 

“I could go for that,” Smokescreen finally replied, lifting his own hand to the Decepticon's mouth and pressing his middle and ring digit to smooth lipplates, requesting entrance. Knock Out opened up without debate and sucked both fingers inside, removing a hand from the paint he was so jealous of and guiding that servo to more deeply insert the invading digits into his intake.

 

Knock Out stared as Smokescreen's resolve almost crumbled, his jaw slack at the sight before him. The 'con was sucking at his digits in a way that was sending charge and vibrations up his arm and to his shoulder, zapping synapses into his very spark that screamed “oh my Primus”. Then that glossa, and a hint of denta...

 

The digits were removed with a pop and Knock Out released a laugh that had been apparently queued up for quite some time, as it was rich and laced with static. “I'm sure you could watch me do that all day, my prince, but we don't _have_ all day.”

 

And so he could, and so they did not. Smokescreen shook his helm to shake off the last of that daze, a shy smile blooming. “Right,” he replied, running his digits—soaked in oral lubricant—over white, glossy lips before guiding his servo down between spread legs where the surgeon's heated valve waited.

 

Shifting to make room where he knelt to fit his arm between them, Smokescreen created eye contact with the 'con once more just so he could watch every expression that appeared as he circled the valve rim with a slick, warm digit. He felt a shudder and dipped the middle finger inside only to be greeted by tight heat.

 

“Relax,” the greenhorn commented, though he immediately started daydreaming about how tight he would be around his spike.

 

“It's not a matter of relaxing,” Knock Out grunted as he felt the blunt, slick digit slip deeper. “Don't be so clumsy, Smokey. Like this,” he muttered, reaching down to grab his wrist and guide him just as he liked. “I don't use this particular orifice very often, you know. Keep it straight...nngh, yes, like that...”

 

With that he gained a bit more clearance into his valve, Knock Out's guidance allowing him to make more progress in a shorter amount of time than he would have on his own. Once the 'con was sure his Autobot lover was able to continue himself, he leaned back and enjoyed himself. There was something magical about teaching a younger bot how to properly prepare for lovemaking and--

 

_Lovemaking?_

 

There was almost a visible shift in his frame when he violently pushed that thought away, frowning. “More,” he grunted, spreading his legs wider and planting his wheeled heels into the soft dirt, rocking his hips upward.

 

“But I haven't even gotten the first one in--”

 

“You're going too slow! It's a wonder you beat me in a race,” Knock Out purred, running his servos up the other mech's arms to gently scratch at the paint there. “Now, _more._ ”

 

Smokescreen's confidence faltered and he fought to regain it, steeling his resolve and pressing the middle finger all the way home within the Decepticon's valve.

 

“We're going to go as fast as I say, KO. I won, I'm calling the shots,” he growled, his engine revving as he slid the digit in and out at a languid pace. The valve was lubricating itself nicely and soon the fluids had adequately coated the intruding appendage to more easily piston in and out of the opening.

 

“Slaggit, Autobot!! More!” he groaned. Before he knew it Knock Out had started begging. He didn't see it as begging, though...more like one-sided, frustrated negotiating.

 

“No!” Smokescreen laughed, though he mercifully began to insert his ring digit, his index and fourth acting as thrusting leverage. The race car inserted that second finger just as he had the first, nice and slow so that he wouldn't hurt his lover.

 

Giving up, Knock Out willed himself to enjoy it, and with a few moments of internal battling he started heating up again. There was no way he was going to think about the level of comfort he was experiencing with the other Cybertronian, embarrassed at exactly how _comfortable_ he was. If they were on the same side he would trust Smokescreen with his life and that was terrifying. Maybe it was the sex talking, maybe the heat in his frame was frying his circuits...

 

Soon, the two fingers slid home to the first knuckle, and Smokescreen sought out a charged node, pressing and rubbing at it. The reaction was intense, a bark of a groan emitting from Knock Out's vocalizer and degrading to static binary at the finish.

 

“That's more like it, Smokey!” the 'con grinned, rolling his hips into the fingers. “Now thrust 'em. Don't be shy.”

 

The 'con had technically gained the upper hand again, but in that moment Smokescreen didn't care. Knock Out was lovely when he got his way, absolutely humming with lust, his biolights emanating a beautiful glow. Smokescreen welcomed himself to thrusting his digits in and out of the tight valve, shuddering minutely at the sounds and sensations that resulted.

 

His lover was reduced to a mewling, groaning mess, and there were times when Knock Out was trying to change face and every time it wouldn't work. His brow ridges were knitted together and his faceplate was hot, vibrant charge hopping from his chassis to the one above him, making Smokescreen gasp in turn. The pistoning intensified in speed and firmness, all but slamming themselves into one node after another until he hit the ceiling node.

 

If the previous reactions to hitting sensitive spots had been starlight, this one was a small supernova. Knock Out arched his back, his tires squeaking against the mossy tree, and he rolled his hips energetically to get another graze of servotips against that overcharged electrode. “Primus!” he shouted, the pleasure intense but, in his seasoned experience, not nearly enough to overload him.

 

“Allspark, KO,” Smokescreen smiled, his eyes wide at the reaction he got. “We really should do this more often. You make the best faces...”

 

“Shut up,” Knock Out smirked, gritting his denta and clenching his valve around the invasion, a startled cry sounding from the bot before him. “Keep going.”

 

“If you say so,” the Autobot replied with a treacherous grin, delighting in the nearly concerned gaze that was returned to him. Without further interruption, those two fingers were buried as deep as they could go, the lengths allowing the tips to mash into that ceiling node. They grazed and pushed and pressed, and before he knew it, a rich chuckle was bubbling out of his vocalizer.

 

Crimson eyes rolled back and offlined with a flicker, their owner unprepared for the rush of sensation up his neural net. He couldn't talk, let alone give his young lover a scathing verbal lashing, his intake hanging open and mouth forming an awed 'o'. His fans kicked on noisily, vents working overtime, and his engine roared, and once his vocalizer had come back online he screamed in completion, tossing his helm back hard enough to smack it against the tree.

 

The entire lithe, strong frame shook, his pelvis spasming upward as he obtained one of the most violent overloads in orns.

 

“Smokescreen!” he yelled, squeezing dents into the self-satisfied Autobot's upper arms.

 

“Good?” the young mech whispered, leaning in to kiss a pointed audial.

 

“You're not _done_ yet, are you?” Knock Out replied in question, venting hard and heavy, fighting to cool his body down. His optics onlined, crimson staring with intense lust into blue. He forced himself to quickly recover from his overload, static electricity zapping around his valve and between their bodies, the calipers within clenching about embedded digits. “I want your spike in me, prince charming.”

 

How could he say no to that? With a click and a whirr of pressurization, Smokescreen's spike was out of its housing, and he removed his fingers from the ever-tight valve, running the leftover lubricant over his shaft.

 

Knock Out looked down between his legs and moaned softly. His frame was still buzzing with pent up charge, but that wasn't the reason for the sound he made; that proud spike was gorgeous. It was white and blue with small sets of cyan biolights decorating it towards the tip, and it was narrow and sleek. Its lack of thickness was made up for the fact that it was quite _long._

 

“Primus.”

 

“See, I told you we should do this more often,” Smokescreen grinned, continuing to stroke himself until he was fully pressurized and as lubricated as he could be. Scooting up between spread thighs, he watched his lover as he pressed the head against him, rubbing the tip around the rim of the valve. “Say my name.”

 

“Hnn?” Knock Out grumbled, too entranced by the way that spike was teasing him so. Replaying the phrase in his audials, he lifted his helm with a cheeky smile. “Huh, your name... I seem to have forgotten it. Could you remind me of what it is?”

 

“KO!” Smokescreen pouted, nudging the tip of his shaft against his opening.

 

“I believe that's the silly nickname you coined for _me._ Try again,” the Decepticon grunted, trying to hide his shiver. It wasn't effective.

 

“I swear to Primus that your second overload is gonna take orns, 'con,” the Autobot growled ferociously, letting the tip dip inside. “Say my name.”

 

“Don't get nasty with me, little prince,” Knock Out purred, lifting a servo and running a taloned digit once more over his lips. “You're not cute when you say such mean things.”

 

Officially fed up, Smokescreen gritted his exposed denta and canted his hips, pressing his spike slowly into that hot, waiting valve. Hissing in a sharp vent to cool his systems, he slid easily in, but paused halfway, enjoying the way his lover squirmed.

 

Then he stayed like that. Not moving, frozen and staring sourly at the 'con beneath him. He had just barely bumped into an electrode and the sensation was sending lancing, quiet pain through Knock Out's systems. Another stand-off ensued; who would break first?

 

The Decepticon wasn't even making any noise! Both of them were quiet, save for the occasional shiver that rattled protometal and the shift of knees in the soft clover.

 

Finally, Knock Out wrapped his legs securely around slim white and blue hips and yanked him forward, embedding his spike firmly into his valve. Metal tapped and chimed together and both Cybertronians groaned, one in surprise and the other as he was filled.

 

“Smokescreen,” he moaned desperately, and they had both won.

 

Knock Out rolled his hips and Smokescreen responded in kind, grinding against his lover and reaching down to grab his hips. Grinding wasn't enough, and so the younger bot began thrusting, pistoning his spike in and out of the other bot's body, watching the 'con with half-mast optics, waiting for reactions. He fed off them, gained affirmation from them, and his lust increased with them.

 

Staring back at him were a pair of deep red lenses, and they silently dared eachother to make noise. The first to break was Knock Out who started whispering Smokescreen's name like a mantra, rewarding him for being a good partner.

 

“Knock Out,” Smokescreen breathed, abandoning the nickname in favor of his true designation, thrusting home and holding himself there, allowing charge to build. He wanted it to be slow, but there was no way he was going to last long with the 'con squirming against him and making all sorts of noise.

 

Strings of curses followed when Smokescreen stopped and Knock Out reached out and desperately grabbed shoulder pauldrons, seeking out gaps and seams and teasing at them, attempting to spur his lover into more movement. “Smokescreen! Ungh, Primus, Smokey! Please, please frag me!” he vented in longing, and the thrusting continued without complaint. Said movements were more erratic, the youth's lack of experience making him a bit clumsier. Knock Out didn't really mind at this point...the twitching motions added something genuine to the act.

 

The elder bot helped the greenhorn by wrapping his legs more firmly about his waist, pulling him in with each thrust forward and loosening when he pulled back. Before long he was going deep and hard, Smokescreen planting one servo in the clover beneath them while the other continued to grip his waist.

 

Smokescreen shut his optics, the first to break away from their staring contest, moaning and crying out as he was pulled in a little more sharply, his own noises mingling with Knock Out's as his ceiling node was hit hard.

 

As the downward spiral threatened each party of this dance, the Autobot leaned in and crushed his lips to Knock Out's, drawing him into a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. Smokescreen overloaded deep inside the Decepticon, whispering his name against his mouth.

 

At the rush of transfluid and the long spike twitching against his ceiling node, Knock Out met his second climax with a roar, using the leverage of his legs about his lover's waist to lift his hips up off the forest floor...but the wheels against the tree caused him to slide down and somehow become even more firmly seated against the throbbing length inside him, making him absolutely scream.

 

Opening up his optics to watch the 'con meet his second overload, Smokescreen grinned, quietly humming at the feeling of calipers clenching and nodes shifting about him. Knock Out was beautiful, handsome, legendary in appearance, and Smokescreen didn't have to say so. Fortunately and unfortunately, the medic knew that all too well.

 

Coming down from his high, zaps of charge running over his chassis, Smokescreen leaned down and scooped up the supercar in his arms, grunting as he leaned back and guided the Decepticon into his lap. His spike was still inside him but the greenhorn was making no move to initiate another round. He desired the closeness of having the other bot in his lap, his arms wrapped around his middle and his forehelm pressed against his chest.

 

Welcoming the new position, though he really didn't have a say in it, Knock Out was in a daze, his body threatening shutdown. He was overheating and tired, and all he could do was wrap his arms around the Autobot's neck, kissing the top of his helm lazily.

 

“Good?” Smokescreen asked again, squeezing his lover's waist tight.

 

“Good,” Knock Out replied simply, sighing and taking a brief siesta in the arms of his knight in shining armor. The thought made him chuckle and the elite guardsman made no effort to ask him what was so funny.

 

After a while, the red bot finally started leaning away, but another squeeze to his middle made him pause.

 

“I'm being pinged for an update,” he grunted, trying to shove the younger bot away from him. “Let go.”

 

“They can wait,” Smokescreen replied, looking up at him and possessively kissing the center of his chest.

 

“... This is dangerous, you know,” Knock Out mentioned, gliding a servo over the other bot's helm.

 

“I believe you said something like that once before and I still don't care,” Smokescreen grinned, earning a leer.

 

“You may not care, but... Smokescreen, we have to be careful. These little _meetings_ are, admittedly, one of the most exciting things I've done in a long time, but that doesn't mean we can let our guard down,” he explained gently, his ego being shoved aside for the moment. Said ego slid right back into place not a nanosecond later. “If you and I meet on the battlefield I will have no choice but to destroy you. Megatron's orders come before anything pertaining to pleasure.”

 

Smokescreen sulked, resting his chin against the red armor. “I guess. But, Knock Out, don't you think you would be happier as an Autobot? I mean, Megatron doesn't really seem like the gracious type--”

 

“This conversation ends now,” Knock Out grunted, shoving himself out of the Autobot's grip and standing, shutting his interface panel before a slough of shared liquids could run down his thighs. He cold clean up later. “Let's split up that energon and go our separate ways.”

 

Smokescreen's spike depressurized and his own panel snapped shut as he scrambled to his feet, reaching out for the red bot's servo when he turned to walk away. Knock Out whipped around to bellow at him but was cut off by a sweet kiss.

 

“We'll be careful,” Smokescreen smiled, letting go of his servo.

 

They had walked together to find the energon vein, each enjoying the other's company in the quiet of the forest. Smokescreen made no complaint and surprisingly Knock Out made no snide remarks as they stepped into the darkness, surveying the small cache they found.

 

Agreeing with each portion and drawing an imaginary line between, they turned to look at eachother, both frames illuminated by the glowing ambient light of the unrefined energon.

 

“This is it. You hide while we grab our share and then we'll be out of the way,” Smokescreen said, lifting a servo to his audial to notify his base.

 

“Wait,” Knock Out said, advancing on the other Cybertronian and wrapping his arms around his waist. He kissed him firmly, lipplates melding together coupled by a lancing glossa. The embrace lasted for just a moment, not long enough in Smokescreen's opinion, and they were separated once more. “There, now we're done. A word of advice, for both of us... Next time we meet, let's not take it quite as seriously, hmm?”

 

The comment confused the younger bot, but all he could do was nod in agreement, looking on as the Decepticon left the enclosure of the cavern. He heard him transform and speed off with a guttural roar of his engine, and Smokescreen was left by himself to think.

 

He notified base of the energon and, as Ratchet secured the ground bridge, he thought of a good reason why they should only take half the energon there.

 

In his hiding spot, Knock Out mulled over his own thoughts and feelings beneath a huge pine, resting in the shade, dappled shade keeping him from view.

 

They really should do that more often.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this fic! I may add chapters if I get inspired again, but consider it a finished work.


End file.
